Get By With a Little Help From My Friends
by warchiefsteph
Summary: Lilith Hawke is just getting to know Anders, and it inevitably leads her into his Darktown Clinic, finding that he needs more help with his work than he lets on. Emetephobia trigger warning in the beginning and slight mention and the end.


"You don't give yourself enough credit, you know that, right?"

Nose wrinkled in disgust as the patient on the bed before her had turned over the edge, emptying what contents his stomach held onto her boots. Lilith was no healer, and yet she found herself in Anders' clinic, seeking his aid, only to see that he was overwhelmed with sick and injured patients. She'd barely found him within the hoard of misfortunate which flooded his clinic, and luckily for him, her matter wasn't exactly urgent. Aveline wouldn't mind a delay, would she?

Helping the man back into his cot, pulling the covers back up to his shoulders, Hawke backed away, grateful that he hadn't gotten any down the front of her tunic. Still, she could feel it soaking through her books, and she turned away slowly, only to run into a shivering, rather pale elven woman with a thin blanket pulled tightly around her shoulders. A weary sigh escaped Hawke's lips as she led her toward the last free cot in the establishment, feeling the shivers grow into violent shudders the nearer they drew to it. There likely wouldn't be much that she'd be able to do for the woman as she was not a healer, but Hawke strove to make the elf as comfortable as possible, all the while searching for Anders amid the hoard of needy patients.

"Stay here," she said gently to the woman, piling blankets upon her. "I'll find Anders as soon as I can, but you'll have to lay still for the time being." The woman, already weak, could barely nod, but the small, grateful smile on her lips told Hawke that she understood.

Stepping away, her eyes narrowed, looking over the heads of those who blocked her view of the surrounding area, but the feeling of magic in the air, coming from not far before her, took her in the direction she needed. Pushing through the sick, and the angered that were not being healed right away, she finally managed to find Anders, bent over a wheezing child, pale and sweaty, circles under his eyes so dark that Hawke wondered how the poor thing was able stay awake. Anders wasn't looking any better, however; while not sick, his features were nearly as pale as the boy's, and his eyes, too, had dark circles of weariness and overwork. Concern flashed across Hawke's face as she saw his magic flicker and weaken. When was the last time he ate? The last time he slept? She might have been an idiot when it came to healing, but it did not mean she couldn't lend her aid to him to help.

Pushing through the tightly packed crowd-no doubt the ill boy's family-she was able to reach Anders after some struggling, her slender hand reaching to rest on his feather pauldron. She could feel the magic flowing through her and into him, adding renewed vigor to his healing. His face gained some color, and his eyes brightened, feeling her power mixing in with his own, and the green, healing light that emanated from the palms of his hands strengthened, washing over the boy in a healing mist.

Soon after, the boy stopped wheezing, his breathing became steady again, and his family flocked about the cot, thankful for Anders' healing. Hawke slowly stopped channeling her magic through him, and the moment the last bits of her power stopped, he slumped wearily, causing her to catch him quickly, allowing him to use her to steady himself.

"Thank you, ser," cried the mother, reaching for Anders' hand, clasping it in both of hers. He'd supported himself by wrapping an arm around Hawke's shoulder, and though it was obvious that he was weak, he still offered a kind smile and bow of his head at her thanks.

"It was no trouble, he should be well enough to go home. Stop by tomorrow for a checkup and he should be fine in a few days."

Nodding quickly, the woman took her son by the hand, ushering her family out and away from the cot, leaving only a messy bed in their wake. Anders sighed beside Hawke, and she could feel him growing heavier against her shoulder, and yet the masses seemed to continue to grow. There was only so much one man could do, even with Hawke lending her magic, and if he didn't slow down soon, he was going to end up killing himself.

Once the boy and his family had left, more flocked around the mages, and Anders only looked on, too weary to speak, nearly sleeping as he stood. Hawke, who had noticed how his face fell, brought her fingers to her lips, whistling loudly, gathering the attention of the horde about them.

"Alright, you lot," she said, loud voice easily carrying over the silent crowd. "Anders isn't feeling well, and he's unable to heal anymore without falling ill, himself. Come back tomorrow morning and we'll see to your sick and wounded as soon as we can."

Grateful as he might have been, Anders still seemed insistent in continuing his practice, but as he attempted to step forward on his own, it was obvious that the mage would not make it far without stumbling over himself and joining the wounded.

"I don't think so," she murmured, dragging him back, and though he fought only briefly, he relented under her stern gaze, allowing himself to be led into the room adjoining the clinic, where he made his home in the dankness of Darktown. "Anders, you do too much good here to let it kill you."

Pushing the door open, Hawke eased him inside, separating him from the masses behind them, masses that demanded his healing, even if he could not deliver. Bolting the door shut, she allowed him to shuffle to his small cot in the corner, covered in thin blankets and a ratty pillow, hardly comfortable and not at all what he deserved for his service to Darktown. Of course, Hawke's own comforts were similar; she'd barely been in Kirkwall for a year, paying off her family's debt to enter the city, and her uncle's small home was hardly accommodating for she, her mother, and Carver. It was still above Darktown, however, and definitely cleaner.

"You're too good to me, Lilith," Anders sighed wearily, leaning back so that he rested against the wall, his half-lidded eyes fixing on the ceiling, Absentmindedly, his hand reached for the tie that held his hair back, undoing it to let his sandy locks free. Ruffling his hair, his eyes closed before his fingers came to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I swear, had you not stopped me, I'd likely be passed out on the ground, myself."

"I know," Hawke chuckled, rolling her eyes as she came to sit on the edge of his bed, kicking off her soiled boots, one leg folded beneath the other as she lounged. "Anders, you can't just work yourself to exhaustion every day, it's not healthy. I realize these people need all the help they can get, but Maker's balls, man. You're going to drop if you're not careful."

Her lips pursed as she watched him, and a shameful chuckle escaped his lips when he turned his gaze upon her. Her expression, normally jovial and mischievous, was stern and worried, her bright green eyes watching him carefully. His expression was sheepish, as though he had just gotten in trouble, but he knew her worry was well-found. He barely took care of himself as it was; had Hawke not found him, he'd likely wither away to nothing.

"When's the last time you've eaten, Anders?" she asked, raising a brow. "And for that matter, gotten a good night's sleep?"

"Maker only knows," he replied with a half-hearted shrug, ruffling his hair again. Having it back all day had given him a bit of a headache, though that could be due in part to his lack of sleep and proper meals, but he pushed it aside. He already knew he was caught by Hawke; there was no way she would be leaving without helping him.

"You don't have to do this you know, I'll be fine," he continued sheepishly. "I'm more concerned for the sick and wounded, I can handle a bit of no sleep."

"The hell you can," she quipped, giving him a flat stare. "You're like the walking dead, you need some time to yourself. These people will walk all over you for help, you know. They'll use your hospitality the first moment they can, believe me, I can see it already."

Sighing in defeat, his shoulders fell, knowing that she was right. There was no getting around it; as often as she cracked jokes, Hawke was quite perceptive and intelligent, and it hardly took any time for her to see how Anders truly suffered. It could have been worse, he supposed, but he knew that there wasn't any way he would be getting out of this without her dragging him to a proper meal.

"You're right, Lilith," he said, stretching out his long legs before him. "You're absolutely right."

"Naturally," she replied without pause. "When have you known me to be wrong?"

"Not often, I'll admit," he continued, relaxing into a more comfortable position. His headache seemed to be growing worse, and again, he pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the pain from bothering him too much. Hawke, however, wrapped her hand around his wrist, tugging it away from his face, her brows raised.

"Why don't you come to the Hanged Man with me, later?" Hawke asked gently. "Varric and I are meeting for a few drinks, and I know you could use a hot meal."

"I have little coin, Lilith," he replied, almost in shame. "What I do, I need for supplies."

"I got you, no need to worry about it," she insisted with a shrug. "I've got enough for us both, and I will not leave until I know you've had a good meal and decent rest. I can't have you dropping dead on me, you know." Pausing, her lips curved into a devilish grin, brows quirking as he met her gaze. "I've taken a liking to you, you know. I'd be devastated if you made yourself sick."

"Aren't you the charmer? Very well, I'll come. But if Varric makes one joke about the 'tortured romantic' again, I'll be coming back to my little room here, thank you."

"What? You mean you don't like being labeled the dashing rebel with the pretty eyes, then? Anders, you poor soul, you need to look in the mirror more often."

He snorted, the first true expression of glee she had seen since she arrived several hours earlier, and Hawke re-positioned herself to sit directly beside Anders, leaning on him dramatically.

"This poor, tortured soul, whatever will he do?" she continued, feeling his shoulders shake as he bit back laughter. For the longest time, Hawke wasn't even sure if Anders could laugh, as grim and surly as he looked, but it didn't take much prodding to know that he had a sense of humor on par with her own, when she could drag it out.

"He will deliver us from the templars. He will stand before us, wind whipping his hair about his face as the power of the Fade flows through him. He will be the savior of the mages."

"Lilith, please, you're exaggerating," he chuckled, nudging her with his elbow. "As much as I would love to be the one to deliver us from the hands of the templars and Chantry, I'm but one man. I don't have the power to singlehandedly overthrow the corruption in Kirkwall."

She could tell that his mood had taken a turn, and there was a slight bitterness to his voice when the templars were mentioned. Hawke had no love for them, and given the choice, she would happily rid the world of the Chantry, the Templars, and the Circles. Personal freedom was very important to her, and to have it stripped away from her, simply because she was born with magical talent, was not something she was alright with, and thankfully, Anders felt the same.

"Listen," she said, her gleeful expression becoming stern as the conversation took on a more serious tone. "If anyone can rally mages against the threat of the templars and Chantry, it has to be you. For all the good you've done in Darktown as a healer, people will rally by you. I know I will. I'll be your number one support, if it comes down to it. My father was an apostate, so was my sister. And so am I. Mages' freedom is just as important to me as it is to you."

There was a fire in her eyes that few had seen; she may not have been vocal about her feelings on the matter, but it was always there, especially when Carver brought up his bullshit around her. Anders saw it, right then and there, and it caused a smile to spread across his lips at her admission.

"I'm glad you feel that way, it has made living in this hellhole more of a comfort than it has been in some time. I know I'm not as alone as it feels like."

It was Hawke's turn to snort, leaning herself heavily against his shoulder. Her hand stretched out before her, and a small flame flickered into existence in the palm of her hand. She couldn't even imagine herself without magic; it had always been there, since her childhood, a crutch and an asset. She understood the danger her powers presented when it came to demons and the Fade, but she was wise about her powers. She may have not learned in a Circle, but she was wise enough to know what her powers were capable of.

"I'd say I'm the best damn thing that's happened to you," she mused, her lips curved in a devilish grin. She turned her head, resting her chin on his shoulder as she watched him, brows quirking in mirth at the slighty rosiness that had dusted his sharp cheeks. "What would you do without me?"

"I can't imagine much," he replied slowly, realizing exactly how close she was. He cleared his throat, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck distractedly. "For one, I'd be dead, no doubt. I mean, you had to basically drag me away from my charges."

"Right, and I can't let a pretty face like yours be claimed back to the Maker now, can I."

"Lilith, please," he stuttered, shaking his head. "Is that really necessary?"

"Naturally," she replied with a shrug. "Who am I to say you're not a pretty boy, eh? Still, I'll stop if you want me to."

"No, it's fine. I just-" he paused, glancing at her again. "It's always unexpected, I never know when you'll strike."

"Let's keep it that way then," she growled, pinching his cheek with a soft laugh. "It's more fun that way. Anyway, let's get you something to eat; Varric's probably waiting on me. Fashionably late, as always." Straightening up, she scooted herself to the end of the bed, springing onto her feet, dragging Anders along with her. It took a moment to remember that her boots had been soiled, and as Anders pulled his hair back out of his face again, tying it up again, he gave Hawke a questioning glance at the pout on her face.

"Something wrong?"

"I hope you have a pair of boots I can borrow," she said, her arms crossing as her lips pursed. "I'd rather not smell like vomit when we get to the Hanged Man."

Laughing, Anders shuffled toward the small writing desk on the opposite side of the room, drawing a spare pair of boots from behind it. "Don't want to smell like vomit? Lilith, you'll fit right in!"

"Ha, ha," she drawled sarcastically, rolling her eyes as he handed her the boots. "I like a drink as much as the next guy, but I don't like smelling like I've had one too many." Still, as she took the boots, her eyes flashed toward his, a coy smile lifting her lips. It took only seconds for her to put them on-they were a bit big, but she wasn't bothered-and the moment she was satisfied, she grabbed him by the hand, tugging him along with her, a wide, crooked smile plastered across her face.

"You'll have fun, trust me," she said, linking her arm around his. "Maker knows you need it." Her gaze was fixed before them, and she did not notice the warm expression he glanced at her with, a smile lifting his weary features.

"I'm sure I will."


End file.
